


A Night on the Coast

by jenny_of_oldstones



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Act III, Developing Relationship, M/M, Relationship Negotiations, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-01 11:57:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14520024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_of_oldstones/pseuds/jenny_of_oldstones
Summary: Fenris accidentally forgets his and Hawke's anniversary.That Hawke isn't surprised might be the worst part.





	A Night on the Coast

Fenris shut the door of his mansion and collapsed against it.

The night had been a long one. He had somehow allowed Varric Tethras to rope him into a card game that lasted three hours, then five hours, then six, until his coin-purse was empty and his head pounded with wine. There had been some dispute over the winnings with the other dwarves at the table, and, as things tended to go in the Hanged Man, the card game had ended with a brawl and a chair broken over Fenris’s head. The long walk back from the Hanged Man had been a miserable one full of fresh bruises throbbing all over his face, and now the very earth seemed to want to drag him downward into sleep.

“Fenris?”

His heart gave a little somersault, then nosedived into the dust. “Hawke.”

Hawke appeared out of the shadows of the foyer. His mabari trotted forward and sniffed around Fenris’s feet. “Maker’s breath, you look knackered.”

“That is putting it….” Fenris drifted towards a rolled-up rug in the corner, having every intention of collapsing into it. Hawke pulled him back by the shoulder and brushed the hood off his head.

“You have a cut on your face.”

“Got in a fight.”

Hawke touched a finger to what felt like a goose egg on Fenris’s forehead, then dropped his hand.

“I take it our romantic dinner is out of the question tonight?”

“Did we have one planned?” said Fenris.

“Do you remember what today is?”

“Saturday.”

“The eleventh of Cloudsreach. Ring a bell?” 

The words fizzled out between Fenris’s brain and mouth. He leaned against Hawke’s chest, and a moment later his feet were being lifted off the ground, his head swaying in empty space over the stairs as they swept away beneath him.

Usually he would put up more of a fight at being carried to bed in such a way, but it was hard to resist once the armor was being peeled off his body and the soft sheets of his bed were wrapped around him. Before he left, Hawke brushed the hair back from his face and kissed his brow.

“Happy anniversary,” he said, and shut the bedroom door behind him.

Fenris scratched himself and rolled over. The mattress dipped as the mabari sprang up and made itself comfortable at the foot of the bed. A gust of wind rustled the juniper tree in the garden, and mottled moonlight shimmered over the wine-dappled walls.

Fenris’s eyes snapped open. “Oh.”

 

* * *

 

 

The mabari whining at the garden door woke him the next morning.

Fenris put his feet on the floor and sat with his hands between his knees, letting his joints pop. Barnabas whimpered and did a little circle.

“If you go on the floor, you will be an outdoor dog from now on.” Fenris ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. His body felt like it had fallen off a cliff. He grunted and padded across the room to open the garden door.

Barnabas darted out. The mabari trotted through the rubble of capsized gargoyles to a weedy patch at the back of the garden. Fenris followed him and stretched his arms to the sun—a chill, dewy morning wind stroking his face. 

It was the day after his and Hawke’s one-year anniversary.

Fenris curled his toes in the damp soil and walked to where the roots had broken through the patio tiles. Following the mabari’s example, he took himself in hand and pissed on them.

How had he forgotten?

Over the past few weeks, Fenris had an inkling that it had been almost one year since he and Hawke had renewed their relationship. He assumed Hawke would not let the date pass unremarked, and no doubt had plans for their celebration. Putting it all on Hawke’s shoulders, the matter had simply slipped from his mind, and been lost in the day-to-day business of work and gambling.

Somehow, it had never occurred to him that Hawke would expect him to remember the date.

It seemed obvious now, but Hawke was in the habit of managing the affairs of his friends, from birthday parties to making sure debts collectors got their payments in a timely manner. The Champion’s wealth and status meant he could take care of his companions in a way that would have been impossible a few years ago. Anders had a guest room to sleep in on nights when the Templars sniffed too close; Merrill kept her own corner of the Amell Estate’s garden, and Isabela, whether Hawke knew it or not, stowed her stolen goods in a hidden cache in the wine cellar. Aveline had hosted more than a few parties at the larger house, and Varric never failed to abuse the hospitality of his best friend whose coffers ran almost as deep as his own. It was hard to worry about scrounging for coin when a hot meal and warm bed awaited you at the Amell Estate no matter what.  

Fenris had rejected the coddling for years, first out of pride, later out of guilt. Ever since he and Hawke had resumed their relationship, however, pride and guilt had become a great deal less interesting. It was nice to be taken care of.

He shook himself dry and stretched his arms above his head. _It was nice_ , he thought, _to have the Champion of Kirkwall playi servant to an escaped slave_.

The door to his bedroom creaked open. Hawke came in with a basket under his arm and the collar of his cloak raised around his ears.

“Your hound is eating my bullfrogs,” called Fenris.

Hawke set the basket down on the table and clapped his hands together. “Barney!” The mabari hopped through the weeds and trotted back into the bedroom, leaving wet prints on the tile. Fenris followed him in and gathered his clothes. By the time he was dressed, Hawke had spread out their breakfast.

The three of them ate in silence. The mabari flopped down on the floor in front of the cold fireplace and gnawed on a green sausage. Hawke ate from a jar of kippers and frowned at the cut on Fenris’s forehead.

“I spoke with Varric this morning,” said Hawke. “He said you’re not allowed to play Diamondback with him ever again. Something about you being a sore loser and telling a merchant prince that his mother was a clam seller?”

“In my defense, they were cheating.” He broke a heel of black bread off the loaf and soaked it in a saucer of olive oil.

"And you weren't?"

"Not to their knowledge, no."

Hawke was still frowning at him.

“I’m sorry for my state last night,” said Fenris. “I did not mean to miss our anniversary.”

“Miss or forgot?”

“Both,” he said. “I am sorry.”

Hawke chewed slowly. A smile crept up his face. “Don’t be. As it stands, I can easily move my plans to tonight.”

“Plans?” said Fenris.

“Trust me,” said Hawke, licking his thumb. “It’ll be fun.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Fun,” apparently meant getting Fenris on an ill-tempered horse to ride out to the Wounded Coast at dusk, when the clouds were scudding with wind and silver with sunlight off the sea. Hawke rode his own horse a little ways ahead, watching the trail.

“Your plans for our anniversary involve a raider infested coastline?” asked Fenris.

“I scouted the area yesterday,” called Hawke back, the wind mussing his beard. “This area’s so mangled in my traps that you’d think we were up to good.”

“Are we up to no good?”

“If you play your cards right.”

Fenris recognized that smirk, and it sent an electric jolt down his thighs.

“Race you down the road.” And before Fenris could protest, Hawke put his heels to his horse and galloped off. Fenris shook his head and slowly followed behind him.

The road led inland until the sight of the sea vanished behind hills. It wasn’t long before they came to a field of swaying, tall grass, the only landmark of which was a copse of gnarled beach elms. Fireflies winked in the darkness beneath their boughs, and the last of the day’s cicadas trilled in their branches. A table and two chairs had been set up at the edge of the trees.

“You brought this out here?” asked Fenris as he dismounted.

“I paid an old friend to haul it out here for me.” Hawke dismounted as well and took the reins of Fenris’s horse from him. “You think the Champion can be seen dragging his own picnic furniture out into a field like a peasant?”

“Whatever would the commons think,” said Fenris.

While Hawke hobble the horses, Fenris went to examine the table. “This looks familiar,” he said, knocking on it. The wood was polished cherry with ebony inlaid. “Didn’t we steal this from the Favagers’ estate we broke into last year?”

“Maybe.” Hawke lowered a clanking, heavy-bottomed basket from the side of his horse. “I honestly lose track of the what and where.” 

Fenris removed his cloak and sword while Hawke took out their dinner. By the time he sat down, a table cloth had been spread across the table and plates of food arranged across it. Hawke struck a match and lit a long row of short candles.

“Do you want me to pull out your chair for you?” asked Hawke, turning his dagger into the meat of a wine cork.

Fenris snorted and sat himself. 

“Tonight,” said Hawke, “we’re starting with a cream of onion soup, followed by a spinach and spring green salad, and for an appetizer phyllo-wrapped asparagus with prosciutto—”

“Your Antivan is terrible,” said Fenris.

“Just wait, and you’ll get to take the piss out of my Orlesian. For the main course, we have salmon with a crust of breadcrumbs and chopped walnuts, and for dessert, a _clafoutis_ , courtesy of Bohdan.”

Fenris shook his head. “You’d be laughed out of every court in Thedas for putting those dishes together.”

“They’re fancy.” Hawke tugged out the cork. He waved a hand over the bottle and sat down with it. “Fancy foods go together.”

“Is that why you brought a _Schwarzer Efeu_ to a dinner that clearly calls for a starter red?” 

Hawke turned the bottle to read the label. “Is that what this is?”

“You know there are slaves in the Imperium who would lose their hands for what you just said?”

“Then thank goodness we’re in the land of barbarians,” said Hawke in his deep voice, pouring the wine, “and I have a connoisseur here to better my education.”

The meal, as mismatched as it was, was delicious. Bohdan had put his heart into every dish, and the food settled warm and heavy in Fenris’s belly. The blue gloom of the dusk turned the night tranquil and soft around them, and tiny frogs peeped in the grass.

Fenris cut off a piece of the _clafoutis_ and placed it on his tongue. The black cherry tart went down easy with the taste of red wine in his throat. He took a breath and looked down at his empty plate.

“You clearly put a lot of thought into this,” said Fenris.

“I like planning our meals.” Hawke was still working on his salmon. “Mother always wanted me to let the servants take care of everything, if nothing else than to live up to our birthright.”

“It couldn’t have been easy for a woman of her station to live in poverty with three children all those years. In her position, I would feel the same.”

“Perhaps. Sometimes I think she just hated me scooting around the kitchen for a different reason. ‘‘Garrett, my poor son, how will you ever find a wife if you keep tying on an apron like a mother hen?’”

Fenris smiled. “This isn’t the first time you’ve done this sort of thing for us.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“You’ve made dinners before, taken me to places in the city I would never dream of going otherwise. Do you ever feel that I take you for granted?”

Hawke cut into the salmon and took a bite. He chewed thoughtfully.

“Yes,” he said.

Fenris nodded and took a sip of wine.

“I could say it’s because you’re better at it," said Fenris, "but that would be a lie. I allow you to make arrangements for us because I know you will. If it were left to me, we would not do half the things we do together.”

“I didn’t expect you to get this heavy,” said Hawke.

“I didn’t worry about our anniversary because I knew I wouldn’t have to. I have you to worry for us both, and that….” Fenris stroked the stem of his wine glass. “Is not right.”

“To be fair, I like taking care of you.”

“Yes, but in my experience that road leads to bitterness. I’d rather we avoid it entirely.”

“Do you have something in mind?”

“I do,” said Fenris. “For every anniversary you plan, the responsibility for the next one will fall to me. The same goes for our outings, dinners, etc.”

“A series of debts,” said Hawke.

“I would hope it wouldn’t feel like debt,” said Fenris, though the thought had occurred to him as well. “It will simply mean that for every kindness you do for me, there’s an opportunity for me to do one for you.”

Hawke drummed his fingers on the table. The silence went on for so long that Fenris refilled his glass.

After a few minutes, Fenris said, “You don’t believe me.”

“I think you and I are very different people,” said Hawke.

“Delicately put.”

“I mean that we show we care for each other in different ways. You don’t need to match me anything. I think we’d both end up disappointed if you tried.”

“Ah,” said Fenris.

They finished off their meal in silence. After a time, Hawke wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it down on his empty plate.

“How about this,” he said. “For the big things, the anniversary things, we trade off, but the little things, the everyday things—don’t worry about it. I don’t like the idea of you pushing yourself to do something that doesn’t come naturally to you.”

“Even if what comes naturally to me is taking advantage of you?”

Hawke shrugged. “Don’t make a thing of it.”

Fenris sighed. “Very well. I will try to be more thoughtful.”

Hawke smiled. “Good.” 

That electric jolt shot down Fenris’s thighs again, this time arcing back to settle around his groin. “I’m starting to think we should head back.”

“Why? Do you have something better you could be doing?”

A dozen filthy answers came to mind, but Fenris settled for a smirk, biting the last piece of salmon off his fork before wiping his mouth with a thumb. As he reached for the wine, Hawke pulled it back.

“Might want to lighten up on that,” he said.

“For the ride back?” The last of the light was fading. “We had best clear off soon, before nightfall.”

“No worries, we’ll be camping out here tonight.”

Fenris blinked. He had neither brought any camping gear or a warm cloak. The field was a whispering, swaying sea of darkness, devoid of any campsite or clearing. “Where do you expect us to bed down exactly?“

“Close your eyes, count to three, and you’ll find out.”

The look Fenris gave must have been dark indeed, because Hawke’s smirk only became more smug. After a moment, Fenris sighed and closed his eyes. “One…”

He heard Hawke’s chair scrape back.

“Two….”

A twig snapped somewhere to his right.

Fenris peeked through his eyelashes. “Three?”

Hawke had disappeared.  

Fenris pushed his chair back. There was a small path leading downhill into the trees, and there, at the start of it, was a single boot.

Fenris picked it up. He followed the path into the darkness of the trees, taking the path slowly so as not to trip over roots. Fireflies lit the way. He kicked something over and pawed around in the dark until he came up with another boot.

“You’ll break an ankle this way,” he called. He pushed aside the bough of a tree. There, under its leaves, were Hawke’s trousers. “On second thought, better risk it.”

He gathered the clothing piece by piece. Trousers, tunic, vest. A belt of daggers he thudded over his shoulder. The last piece, shining white at where the path ended at a break in the trees, was a pair of white smallclothes.

Fenris scooped them up and tucked them into his pocket. He came out from under the trees into a small clearing. The path swept downward to a shallow pool, and there, standing at the water’s edge, wearing only moonlight, was Hawke.

“Found you.” Fenris folded the clothes and stacked them neatly on a stump so as the wind would not scatter them. “Do I get a prize?”

“Damdest thing that, I don’t have a thing on me.” Hawke smirked at him over his shoulder.

Fenris walked up beside him. He slid a hand up Hawke's back, feeling the warm skin. The whine of mosquitos was instantly distracting.

“We’re going to get eaten alive,” said Fenris. “You’re certain you want to sleep out here?”

“We have blankets,” said Hawke, indicating the quilt spread on the flattened grass, “we have the moon, and we have this.” He held up a small river stone.

“Which is?”

Hawke dropped it in the grass. The moment it struck, a strange vibration expanded from it, passing through them like rising air. The lyrium in Fenris’s markings hummed for a moment and then quieted. The whine of mosquitos disappeared.

“Enchantment,” said Hawke. “So we don't have unwanted company.”

Something warm bled through Fenris’s chest then. It was not something he would have thought of, but then that was Hawke. Always one step ahead, always wanting to give comfort. Fenris wished his mind could move that way, instead of always second-guessing and giving way to doubt.

He would have to repay him.

“Come here,” he said.

“I am here,” said Hawke, with his smile.

 _How empty I was_ , thought Fenris. _To feel so full._

They took their time. At some point, when his hands were on Hawke’s thighs and Hawke was above him, murmuring his name, moving with a sure rhythm, Fenris reached up and wiped the sweat off his brow.

Thank you, he didn’t say. It was far better to show it.

**Author's Note:**

> The date idea was shamelessly stolen from a Witcher quest. Woops.


End file.
